


Falling

by Leah



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, I'm Sorry, M/M, Wow, i'm going to have come up with an alternate ending before i give this to my friend, this turned a lot more porny than previously intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah/pseuds/Leah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, John falls in love with Sherlock a little at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

There are several things Doctor John Watson is sure of; War hurts, London is expensive, Led Zeppelin is an alright band, and it is extremely difficult to live with the consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. For example, John can still remember the bullet ripping through his shoulder, tearing at the ligaments, scattering shrapnel through his body; John had to give up the reclusive life due to an up in his rent; “Stairway to Heaven” has been stuck in his head one too many times; and, today, Sherlock left an “experiment” on the kitchen table. 

“Sherlock, what is this?” John demands through an exasperated sigh, gesturing at the sloppily filled bowl of green mush.

Sherlock barely glances over his shoulder from his seat in the living room. “Oh, that’s an experiment. Don’t touch it, I don’t know if it’s toxic yet,” he answers, plucking a string on his violin. John drops his briefcase on the counter, breathing out another hard breath. 

“Yet?” John hisses, slamming his hands against the plastic countertop.

“Does that bother you?” Sherlock asks, twisting his head again, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock,” John groans, twirling on his heel to face Sherlock. “Of course it does! I don’t want to come home to some perhaps or perhaps not toxic substance on our table, where we eat, mind you!”

Sherlock pushes himself off the armchair, dropping his violin on the cushion. He observes John, standing in the kitchen with his hands in his hair, trying so hard not to completely snap at Sherlock. John takes in a deep breath as he tries to relax, tries to remind himself that it’s not Sherlock’s fault, that he just had a long day at the office.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sherlock replies, although it sounds more like a question than an actual apology. “I didn’t know it would upset you.” Sherlock feels his stomach twist in an uncertain way, as John stares at him with such irritation in his stance. John feels a pang of guilt as he watches Sherlock shuffle his feet.

“I-No, I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in the way that he always does when he’s upset. 

“You can finish your experiment. It’s just been a long day, is all. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, John,” Sherlock mumbles, nudging the fringe on the carpet with his toes as John makes his way towards his bedroom. “Feel better.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Rolling out of bed for the second time, John Watson is utterly sure of one thing: He is a complete and total ass. He grumbles as he runs his hands over his face, trying to rub the sleep away. As he nudges the door open, John finds Sherlock’s violin is still resting in the same place on the armchair. The odd citrus tang of a cleaning agent hangs heavy in the air, although it is matched by the floating aroma of John’s favorite take-out restaurant. 

John shuffles forward in his socked feet until he is standing in front of the kitchen archway, where Sherlock is fussing over a center piece bouquet. In front of each seat, a plate is set, and the white cardboard boxes filled with greasy Chinese food are arranged, systematically, between them. Not being able to hold it in, John cracks a smile, as he does at most things Sherlock is capable of doing. Snapping his fingers as if he suddenly remembers something, Sherlock turns on his heel, only to stop short at the sight of John. Suddenly, he feels sheepish. 

“Oh, hello, John,” Sherlock mumbles, stepping to the side of the table. “I, uh, did this.”

John feels something shift inside of him as he thinks about the sheer amount of caring Sherlock had to put into this; scrapping his experiment, using the telephone, cleaning the flat. All very un-Sherlock-ian things to do, but he did them anyway, for John, because he knew John was upset. “Do you like it?” Sherlock asks, his voice somewhere between scared and offended. 

John finds his voice at last, as he takes a step forward, saying, “I really, really like it, Sherlock.”

Sherlock beams, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“You really didn’t have to, though, you know that, right?” John continues, taking another step. “I was completely and utterly in the wrong. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m very sorry, Sherlock.”

“I will, actually, I was, the first person to admit I’m a difficult man to find a flatmate for,” Sherlock answers, pulling out a chair before settling himself onto it. “But I’ve realized today that, perhaps, I’m not making it any easier.”

“Sherlock,” John chuckles, seating himself at the chair across from Sherlock’s. “I don’t want this to become a regular thing. It’s unnatural!”

Sherlock simply chuckles in reply, as he begins tearing open one of the boxes. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sherlock spent the entire dinner sneaking glances at his roommate, and John, when Sherlock wasn’t looking, spent the entire dinner sneaking glances right back. After clearing the table, Sherlock disappears into the living room, and John smiles to himself. He can only expect Sherlock to abandon his work for so long, and he already enjoyed the time Sherlock committed to him. 

John rinses the plates in the sink, as Sherlock leans against the archway into the kitchen, clearing his throat. John raises his eyes to find Sherlock holding two DVDs, Ferris Beuller’s Day Off and The Blues Brothers. “I wasn’t sure which one you like more,” Sherlock mumbles, holding out his hands a little so John can make a decision. 

“Wow,” John breathes, feeling that odd warm feeling roll around in his stomach again as he realizes how much Sherlock pays attention to him. “Uh, you choose,” he laughs, “you’ve been trying to make this all about me; you need to enjoy yourself, too!”

“I am enjoying myself, John, because you’re enjoying yourself,” Sherlock replies, quietly, leaving The Blues Brothers on the counter as he goes to set up the movie. 

John realizes he isn’t sure exactly when this evening turned into a date, but shrugs, puts away the plates, and begins making some tea. As the water in the kettle boils, Sherlock meanders back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while John mixes the milk and sugar into the amber liquid. Sherlock accepts his mug with a gracious, somewhat nervous chuckle, letting his fingers linger on John’s for just a moment.

Settling on the couch, John is halfway disappointed, and worried he misread the signals, when Sherlock sits on the far side, away from John. He slurps his tea in an effort to disguise his slight gloom, which dissipates as Sherlock clears his throat, motioning to his lap. 

“I know you like to stretch out when watching television,” he murmurs, watching John’s heart skip a beat as he slips down the couch. Where Sherlock imagined John’s feet would go, he finds John’s head. 

“Thanks, Sherlock,” John mumbles, settling in to the movie. “You really turned my day around.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Halfway through the movie, John forgets to pay attention, and, instead, focuses on the way Sherlock is constantly moving in some way; whether it’s his foot tapping or his finger curling around John’s hair. John notices the way Sherlock’s chest hitches when he tries not to laugh at the mundane film, notices the way Sherlock wraps his fingers so gently in John’s hair, notices the way Sherlock tries to stifle a yawn when it gets later in the evening. 

Soon, John finds himself on his back, blatantly gazing at Sherlock’s, somehow, unobserving face. John nearly looks away when Sherlock’s piercing blue eyes glance down, catching John’s, but he doesn’t. Sherlock holds the gaze for a moment before flicking his eyes back to the movie with a satisfied sigh, as he strokes the soft spot of skin behind John’s ear. Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, John grasps Sherlock’s wrist softly, pulling his hand away from John’s hair. John feels Sherlock let out a disappointed breath before he realizes John is intertwining their fingers and planting a kiss on the backside of Sherlock’s hand. 

Using his thumb, Sherlock strokes a small circle on John’s hand, as John attempts to return his attention to the film playing before them. The light flickers against the dark living room walls, lulling Sherlock into a contented trance as the colors dance on the screen. As the credits roll by forty-five minutes later, John stretches, arching his back against Sherlock’s chest, and, as Sherlock lets him, John realizes he wants this to happen a lot more often.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A few weeks later, John comes home to find the apartment ransacked, and Sherlock leaning out the window, smoking a cigarette. John takes a moment to set his briefcase on the coffee table and shed his coat, trying to figure out what’s happened before crossing the room to lean against the wall directly beside the window where Sherlock is still smoking. 

“Hey, Sherlock,” John says, smiling even though Sherlock isn’t looking at him. 

Sherlock grunts in response, taking a long drag off his cigarette. 

“What’s wrong? I mean, what’s happened?” John asks, leaning closer to Sherlock. Sherlock can feel the cold rolling off   
of John’s clothes from the autumn day outside. 

Sherlock shrugs.

“Sherlock,” John answers in a low voice, feeling a dull ache arise in his chest because he doesn’t know how to fix Sherlock.

“It’s just been one of those days, John,” Sherlock answers, stubbing his cigarette against the window frame. “I’ve been stuck in this blasted apartment for so long, and you weren’t here, and I just,” he trails off, gesturing around the flat.  
John chuckles, holding out his hand. Sherlock knows, digging the half-smoked pack of cigarettes out of his pocket before handing them over, grudgingly. “Well, I’m here now,” John murmurs, pocketing the cardboard box. “What shall we do?”

“Oh, nothing. I feel better now,” Sherlock tries to excuse himself, standing up as he readjusts his dress shirt, but John knows the cabin fever will rear its ugly head tomorrow if Sherlock doesn’t leave the apartment today. 

“I was thinking of going to dinner tonight, anyway,” John says, looking out the window as he tries not to sound as nervous as feels. 

“With who?” Sherlock asks, squinting his eyes as he tries to remember John mentioning a new woman.

“Uh, you,” John answers, finally looking at Sherlock. “Just to have a little flat-mate to flat-mate time, you know? Unless you have other plans, that is. I get it.”

“Actually, that sounds lovely, John,” Sherlock replies, sounding a bit taken aback, “but you really don’t have to.”

“Yes I do; I owe you one,” John smirks, winking at Sherlock. “You hungry?”

“Sure,” Sherlock mumbles, grabbing his coat and scarf as John leads him out of the apartment onto the chilly London street. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, uh,” John stumbles over his words as he hails one of the black cabs. “I’ve found a new restaurant, over by the office, and I thought it would be kind of fun.” John tugs open the door, rattling off the address as Sherlock clambers into the backseat. Sherlock carefully examines the cabby before relaxing into the leather seat and watching the street pass by in a blur. John sits slightly closer to Sherlock than usual, close enough that, if he stretched out his fingers, he could touch Sherlock’s thigh. 

After a few minutes, the cab pulls off to the side of the road, in front a small building with a glass front and several small metal tables under the red and green awning. John dumps a few bills into the cabby’s hand before scooting out of the car, closely followed by Sherlock. Sherlock rushes ahead to pull the door open for John. 

Inside, the room is packed with round tables, where a few people are seated, talking in hushed voices over the candles situated at the center of each table. A young woman, sporting a black apron and giving Sherlock the once, and then twice, over, before greeting them and seating them at a secluded table, conveniently visible from the front counter, where she sits, ringing people up and calling back orders. John tries not to notice, and, instead, focuses on the menu and the way Sherlock’s feet have tangled themselves with his own. After the waitress stops by their table for the fourth time, they place their orders, and Sherlock props his face against his hand on the table. 

“She finds me attractive, doesn’t she?” Sherlock asks in a bored voice. 

“I suppose she does,” John mumbles, trying to keep his irrational jealousy out of his voice. 

Sherlock makes a grumbly noise in the back of his throat. 

“You could always be normal for once, and ask for her number,” John suggests, hoping Sherlock will answer as he usually does when John makes such absurd remarks; That is, with scorn. 

John is surprised when Sherlock observes his face for a long moment before murmuring, with a small smirk, “I don’t need to.”

John feels his eyes widen before he hides his grin in his glass of water. “Is that so?” John replies, playfully kicking Sherlock’s shin under the table. Sherlock smiles back, as the waitress returns with two plates of steaming food and attempts to flirt with Sherlock once more. Under the table, Sherlock runs his foot up John’s leg, eliciting a stifled chuckle from John. The girl flips her hair as she flounces away, and Sherlock returns his eyes to John.  
John flicks his eyes up, catching Sherlock’s. Suddenly, a fresh wave of warm feeling bursts in John’s chest as Sherlock lowly turns his eyes back to his dinner, embarrassed but trying to hide it. Sherlock taps his foot against John’s, lightly, before taking a few bites of his dinner, but John can’t take his eyes off Sherlock, loving the easy way Sherlock moves, like nothing will ever phase him.

“Uh, John?” Sherlock asks, looking up with a glint in his eye.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John replies, giving Sherlock a small smile.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Oh, God, yes,” John replies, finally giving in to the feeling in his chest and fishing more than enough money out of his pocket. He follows Sherlock out of the restaurant, with a fleeting smug smile thrown at the waitress. Outside, Sherlock hails a cab, pulling open the door, before grasping John’s wrist and tugging him into the backseat. 

“221 B Baker Street,” Sherlock mumbles to the cabby before attacking a very surprised John with his lips. Sherlock plants little kisses along John’s neck and jaw line, as John runs his hands through Sherlock’s curls. The cabby, taking notice of what’s happening, grumbles something about keeping it PG-13. 

It’s only a few minutes until they’re at Baker Street, and John tumbles out of the cab, dragging Sherlock with him as   
Sherlock tosses a gratuitous amount of money at the cab driver. Once inside, Sherlock pins John against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, attaching his mouth to John’s neck once again, leaving purple marks in his wake, and only breaking contact with John’s skin to shush John’s worries of Mrs. Hudson walking in from the market to find her renters making out in the hall. 

“She’s gone to visit her sister,” Sherlock murmurs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “for a week.”

John lets out a content sigh as he undo’s Sherlock’s scarf, dropping it on the floor, before cupping Sherlock’s face in his hands. John gazes into Sherlock’s eyes for a moment before angling his face just right and pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock eagerly licks at John’s teeth as John takes Sherlock’s lip into his mouth, sucking on it lightly. Sherlock begins to shoulder off his coat and walk up the stairs, backwards so as to avoid breaking the kiss.   
Once inside the flat, John takes his turn at worshiping Sherlock’s body in light kisses as he unbuttons the purple dress shirt Sherlock is wearing. Sherlock collapses onto the couch, pulling John down with him, flipping over, so John is underneath his own body. He pulls the sweater John is wearing over John’s head, leaning down to kiss John again, in a long, lazy kiss. Sherlock works his way downward, kissing the scar on John’s shoulder, and lighting John’s nerves on fire with each kiss. John’s swiftly hardening cock is already straining against his pants when Sherlock finally gets there, undoing the button painfully slow. 

Sherlock pulls John’s pants around his knees, chuckling at the bright red y-fronts John is wearing before breathing lightly over the damp spot that is appearing over the head of John’s dick. John shudders, seeing sparks and thrusting his hips into the air above him. “Sherlock,” he gasps, threading his fingers into Sherlock’s dark hair once again. Sherlock chuckles and pulls John’s underwear down to join his trousers. Without warning, Sherlock licks a stripe up John’s hard-on, and John tightens his grips on Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock takes the head into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the slit, moaning when he finally tastes John. He sucks lightly as John babbles sweet nonsense to Sherlock. There is a pause in the commentary as Sherlock takes all of John into his mouth, flexing his throat around John’s member and relishing the little whining noises escaping John’s mouth that only intensify when Sherlock actually begins moving, releasing John’s cock only to dive back onto it moments later. 

Suddenly, John moans something that sounds like, “I’m there,” and tightens his hands even more on Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock braces himself as John’s come shoots into the back of his throat, tasting musky and bitter and even more wonderful than Sherlock expected. As John softens, Sherlock lets him slide out of his mouth, kissing his way back up to John’s open mouth and giving him a languid kiss. When John catches his breath, he sits up, pinning Sherlock to the back of the couch, giving him a naughty smile and murmuring, “My turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... sorry I don't know how to write porn but it had to happen :)


End file.
